


Pipes of Peace

by Storyshark2005



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 13:43:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storyshark2005/pseuds/Storyshark2005
Summary: After Mexico, Jessica and Kilgrave duck S.H.I.E.L.D. and the long arm of the law to take shelter in Missoula, Montana. Big skies, no fences, and the endless highway finally comes to a (temporary) end for the dynamic duo.Or,Jessica and Kevin take a break from the Hero thing, and Trish comes to Montana for a visit.-Could be read stand-alone, but assumes events post-OATIM, Los Heroes (part I) and Heart of Darkness (part II). Brief appearances from OCs familiar to readers of OATIM.(I know, it's terrible, I'm not even finished with HoD yet! See notes.)





	Pipes of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little apology for all those waiting for the new and final chapter of, 'Heart of Darkness'. Chapter V is now over 13K words, and I still have SO SO MUCH MORE TO WRITE, so I do promise, it'll be a long one when it's finally out!
> 
> My goal is to finish HoD before the year is out, but as a peace offering, here is a little ditty to tide you over.

 

 

 

 

_***_

 

 

## Pipes of Peace

#### Storyshark2005

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> Turn me loose, set me free
> 
> Somewhere in the middle of Montana
> 
> And give me all I've got coming to me
> 
> And keep your retirement
> 
> And your so-called Social Security
> 
> Big city turn me loose and set me free
> 
> Hey, big city, turn me loose and set me free
> 
>          - Merle Haggard, _Big City_

 

***

 

After Mexico, they take a year off.

 

Jessica draws a black sharpie line through the entire east coast, and they look Westward. They try Los Angeles, Portland and Seattle- but the rent is too high, the apartments too shitty and too small, and Jessica realizes that she’s gotten snobby. She’s tired of motels, and hotels, and a basement 1-bedroom apartment in San Francisco that costs $2,600 a month and smells like mold and cat piss isn’t much better. They drive, and scour Zillow and Craigslist, and one morning Jessica wakes up at a Motel 6, his lips on her pulse, and he whispers _Montana_ into her skin.

 

It seems as good a place as any to float under the radar. She thinks the chances of seeing _S.H.I.E.L.D._ west of NYC or east of LA is pretty slim, and for a guy named Captain America, he sure didn’t seem to venture away from cities with two and three letter acronyms.

  
They find a 3 bed, 2.5 bath in Missoula, on a corner lot with a real backyard, trees that turn red and orange in the fall, and hardwood flooring. There’s a one-car garage and a basement, and she keeps a loaded .45 on the top shelf of the closet.

 

They have landlords (Sherry and Dale) and a neighbor across the street that keeps inviting them over for beers on the front porch (Mike) and a lonely kid next door who comes home from school and shuts himself inside to play video games (Miles).  They keep to themselves the whole first autumn and winter, but Mike uses a snowblower to clear their sidewalk and driveway the first big snow, and Miles knocks on their door with a ‘Missing’ poster after his cat bolts outside (the cat’s name is Karl ‘with a K’) and then Jessica finds the goddamn thing hunting birds in their backyard, and it climbs a tree to get away from her. Kevin wanders out and watches Jessica climb the tree, and as she grabs the stupid thing by the scruff, it freaks, scrambles back down the tree, straight into Kevin’s arms.

 

“Stupid cat,” she grumbles, wiping sap and tree bark from her hoody. Karl digs his nose down into the crook of Kevin’s elbow, purring, tail curling around his forearm like a python.

 

“Don’t listen to her, Karl” he says, “She’s only jealous.”

 

They start out eating a lot of spaghetti and pizza, and then he watches a cooking show and makes her the best pho she’s ever had in her life, so that’s a thing that happens. They run at night when the stars come out and the air is cold and crisp. Miles and his family go on vacation, and Kevin buys a stupid cat harness and they take the stupid cat on actual walks down the street to Bonner Park, and it’s maybe the dumbest cutest thing she’s ever seen, a little orange cat on a leash sniffing at trees and flowers.

 

That first November, Sammy calls them and says Juan and Rosa have never seen snow, and Sammy piles Kate and the kids into the van and they tumble out into the house. It’s a year gone now since Mexico, and the kids babble along in English like they’d been speaking it their whole lives. Rosa is 13 and a foot taller, and her wide smile makes it hard for Jessica to remember she’s not related to Sammy. Juan is almost 8, and his face is a little less round than it used to be. He’s wearing a red sweater over a plaid shirt, and he’s clutching a Goosebumps book about a haunted summer camp. Jessica and Kevin don’t know what to do, but Sammy pulls them in for hugs, and Kate kisses their cheeks, and the kids jump into their arms, yelling _Tia Jessica!_ and, _Tio Keviño!_

 

Rosa grabs the Apple TV remote and starts scouring Netflix. In the kitchen, Kevin tells Sammy what vegetables to chop, and Kate cuts up a lime and hands out beers. Jessica leans on the doorframe and listens to Kevin wrap his sentences into unexpected shapes to avoid the imperative- they’re creative, elegant, and she’s realizes how good he’s getting at it, you wouldn’t even notice unless you knew better, unless you were Jessica.

 

Sammy and Kate take the guest room, and Juan and Rosa spread their sleeping bags out in the living room, and Jessica makes a mental note to look for bunk beds on Craigslist.

 

The next morning they walk down to the park and the snow is wet enough for a snowman, and Miles runs up to say hi, and ends up teaching Juan and Rosa how to build a snow fort, and so the snowman is cannibalized into an outer defensive wall. Jessica heads back to start hot chocolate, and Kevin follows, and she pushes him into the wall just inside the front door, his lips and teeth are ice cold.

 

“What was that for?” he asks, pink cheeked, and a little breathless.

 

“You’re so good,” she says, and kisses him again.

 

***

 

Trish calls her in the Spring.

 

“I’m engaged,” she says, “I want you to meet him.”

 

“I’m in Montana. We can’t just Skype?”

 

Trish sighs into the speaker. “Jess...what are you afraid of?”

 

She pinches her temples lightly. “I don’t want to come to New York.”

  
  
“That’s great- I’m overdue for a vacation anyway. We’ll get a hotel. I don’t want to crowd you.” she says, and Jessica is relieved.

 

“What do you want me to do?”, he asks later, in the dark of the bedroom. He’s bare chested, she lowers her lips to his sternum. “Do you want me out of the house?”

 

“No, no.” she squeezes his bicep lightly. “She’s bringing her _fiance-_ he flies in a couple days after she does.”

 

“ _Really_?” His eyes light up. “‘Ol Patsy is tying the knot?”

 

“Be nice to him.”

 

His brow raises, amused. “I was about to say the same for you. Who’s the lucky lad?”

 

“His name is Griffin Sinclair, he’s-”

 

“The reporter?”

 

“Yeah, how did you know?”

 

“You always say I watch too much telly.”

 

“You do.”

 

“Maybe. He’s a fellow ex-patriot.” he runs a hand over her hip, settles at the small of her back. “Did she happen to say who he supports?”

 

She crawls up, hovers over him, her dark hair curtaining them off from the room.

 

“Is that a soccer question?” she bites lightly at his collar bone, presses her fingertips into his ribs.

 

“Mmm. Terribly, important, these types of questions. They can tell you- _ah-_ all...about a person-”

 

She presses her hips, _down_ \- “What, like the Yankees or the Mets? Boxers or briefs?”

 

He hisses, breathes in shallowly. “You hate baseball. This is like...if she brought home a Celtics fan- _ohmygod-”_

 

He stops talking after that.

 

***

 

It’s an 8-hour flight from NYC to Missoula, and Jessica picks Trish up from the airport in the navy blue Bronco they’d bought from Mike’s brother, all in cash.

 

Trish smells like perfume and the City and _home,_ and Jessica holds her tight, tears pricking her eyes. She knows Trish is crying a little behind her dark sunglasses, but her smile can’t get any bigger. Jessica grabs her left hand dutifully, and whistles, making Trish blush. She bats her hand away, “Take me to lunch, I’m _starving!”_

 

Jessica knows this might very well be Trish’s first time more than 100 miles away from a coastline, so she decides to break her in easy, and brings her to the nicest place in Missoula, a French-style joint called _The Pearl Cafe_ , on Front Street. Trish will pick up the check, anyway. There’s a little deck out back, and it’s 70 degrees out, so they sit outside and the breeze is soft and cool.

 

“So,” Trish peruses the menu, sips her Riesling, her bangs brush across her face. “How is it living here? It seems really nice.”

 

“Yeah. I dunno, I guess the City felt...cramped, or something. After Mexico.”

 

Trish nods, sets her chin in her hand. Jessica’s taken aback, sometimes, with how beautiful her sister is, with her expressive forehead, neat nose, and carved cheekbones.

 

“So, you’re living with him?”

 

“I’m keeping an eye on him.”

 

“Are you sleeping with him?”

 

Jessica coughs on her whiskey soda. “ _Jesus-”_

 

“Hey- I’m not judging!”

 

Jessica sets her glass down, dabbing at the table with her napkin. “That’s really none of your business-”

 

_“So you are-”_

 

“Trish-”

 

The waitress comes by, sets their plates down. Jessica nods a thank you, and immediately tucks in.

 

“What? I feel like I tell you everything about my life- I haven’t gotten an update longer than a text message in almost 3 years-”

 

“Well, it’s been _weird_ -”

 

“You seem happy-  you look good, you look more comfortable in your own skin. I haven’t seen that since Sterling-”

 

“Hey-”

 

“I can say his name. It’s about time you do too, it’s not good, you’re always bottling it up- Anyway, my point is- I don’t care that it’s weird. If you’re _really_ safe, and he can’t hurt you anymore- if you’re _happy_ in this life- that’s all I care about. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Just...don’t ever feel like I’m judging you, Jessica.”

 

“See, but just you saying that sounds judgy-” but she says it smiling, and Trish laughs her musical laugh, and bites down on a coconut shrimp.

 

“I like you here,” she says. “All this sunshine and fresh air. It suits you.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what he always says.”

 

“Who- Kilgrave? What name do you even use now?”

 

“Umm...I dunno. I usually try to avoid calling him anything. I mostly just order him around, ‘ _Get over here’,_ like that.”

 

“So you’re avoiding the situation.”

 

She shrugs. “Probably.”

 

“Well what do you call him during sex?”

 

Jessica flings a french fry across the table, but it misses its target. She leans back in her chair, enjoys the sound of Trish’s laughter and the bright white horseshoe of her teeth.

 

“Fuck off, Walker.”

 

“Never,” she says, and bites down into the previously pelted potato.

 

“So,” Trish continues, “When can I meet Kevin?”

 

***

 

“Hey,” Jessica adjusts her tank top, tucking it into the only pair of jeans she owned without holes. “Introduce yourself as Kevin, ok?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“I dunno, you still use the other name sometimes-”

 

“No, I don’t. _You_ do- I’m not sure you ever call me by anything, actually-”

 

 _“What?_ That’s not true-”

 

“Yes it is. When was the last time you said anything beside- _‘Hey’_ , _‘You’_ , or a variation, thereof?”

 

“Well, I don’t- whatever. You’re Kevin tonight.”

 

“I know.” he snaps. He gestures to the door. “Am I allowed to hold the door? Or is that sexist?”

 

“You’re the one acting like a little girl-” and she opens the door, sweeping her arm magnanimously.

 

Sadly, there are two sets of doors, and she smacks him hard in the chest when he opens the second one for her.

 

“ _Ow-”_ he says, rubbing his chest.

 

Trish waves from across the room.

 

“C’mon, _Kevin_. Don’t be such a baby.”

 

***

 

Jessica had let Trish choose the restaurant, and presumably after several hours of scouring Yelp reviews (Jessica hated nothing in the world so much as Yelp) Trish has chosen an art-deco themed, locally-sourced something or other joint called _The Red Bird_.

 

Griffin is (unsurprisingly) tall, handsome, and charming, but (surprisingly) likeable, and as far as she can tell, not a total douche-bag, which made him stand out from every other guy Trish had ever dated.

 

He shakes hands with Kevin, and Trish and Griffin do most of the talking at first. Jessica watches Trish closely for any signs of discomfort, or nervousness- but she thinks, Trish had never really seen Kevin when he was Kilgrave, outside of pictures and Jessica’s own recounted horror stories. She can see Trish is making an effort, sees the nervousness slowly slip away with her wine.

 

They get through appetizers, and Griffin glances surreptitiously at his lap. He curses.

 

Trish looks alarmed. “Don’t tell me it’s work?”

 

“No, no. Sorry, it’s a bit embarrassing-” he slides his phone back into his pocket. “I’m in a fantasy league with some mates-”

 

Kevin raises an eyebrow. “American football?”

 

Griffin shakes his head ruefully. “Premier League.”

 

“ _Reeeaaally_.” Kevin folds his hands, eyes dancing over his knuckles. “Dare I ask the question?”

 

Griffin pulls his knee up, foot on his chair, and reveals a red sock. Kevin lets out a surprised laugh.

 

“I was afraid you were a Chelsea man.”

 

“House divided. My dad had season tickets to Stamford Bridge. But my mum was always for United. Trish mentioned you were from Manchester-”

 

“Only for a little while.” Only Jessica catches the slightly melancholy note, he covers it well. She wouldn’t have noticed a year ago.

 

They blather on about football for awhile, and Trish smiles at Jessica over her wine glass, conspiratorially. Jessica pointedly ignores her and flags the waiter down.

 

“Funny, this.” Griffin comments after the waiter departs, eyes on Trish.

 

“What?” she says, gold earrings dangling like chandeliers, cheeks warm red with wine.

 

“Two sisters from New York, ending up with two Brits. What are the chances?”

 

Jessica watches the two of them, and thinks this is the first man that looks at Trish how she deserves to be looked at. Like someone cherished, and not a thing to be possessed.

 

Kevin, thankfully, says nothing, lips hidden in the crux of his hand. He knows better than to talk about fate around her, about words written in the stars or grains of sand.

 

She doesn’t believe in luck, and she doesn’t believe in fate. But when he asks her what she _does_ believe in, (he has before), she’s not so sure.

 

People, on occasion. Sometimes she believes in them.

 

***

 

Jessica drops them both off at the airport the next morning, and Trish pulls her in for a long, tight hug.

 

“Be careful,” she says, and pushes her sunglasses up, all blue eyes and wrinkled brow.

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“I think,” Trish starts, glances back at Griffin, who is pointedly looking away, giving them some privacy.

 

“I think you should stay here awhile. I’ve never seen you like this.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like you’re not looking back over your shoulder. Like you’re not hiding from something.”

 

“Trish,” she snorts. “That’s exactly why we’re _here-_ ”

 

“No, I mean- I know that. But you know what I mean.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “You mean I don’t have to worry about Kilgrave anymore.”

 

“You saved him. And he- Well.” Trish shakes her head, and pulls her in for another hug (she can always rely on Trish for that, trying to make up for Dorothy’s cold fingers and stiff shoulders).

 

“Anyway. You’ve done enough saving. Be selfish a little while.” Trish holds her at arms length, critically.

 

“Think about what _you_ want.”

 

***

 

Later, back at the house, she finds Miles out front, mowing their lawn.

 

“Miles,” she yells, over the mower. “What are you doing?”

 

He stops, cutting the engine, and pulls off his ballcap.

 

“Well, Kevin said he’d drive me to Friday-night Magic the next couple months, since Mom’s got her book club. So I thought...I dunno. I had to do ours, anyway.

 

“Is that okay?” he squints up at her, one eye closed to the high afternoon sun.

 

She ruffles his hair, eliciting a boyish squeak.

 

“Yeah, kiddo. More than okay. Come on in when you’re done, my sister burned some cookies for us.”

 

Miles whoops, and she steps out of the sun and into the kitchen, she pulls the plastic container of cookies out of the fridge and sets it out on the counter. She opens a Corona and instead of numbing up her head, it tastes cold and cool and crisp.

 

She walks back through the house and finds Kevin in glasses, reading something called Wodehouse on the couch, and the sun peeks through the window,  and turns the dark wood floor and his eyes and his hair, a deep golden color.

 

Underneath the sound of the mower, she hears the wind chimes from Mike’s porch, through the open front door and across the street.

 

She sees, and hears, and smells, and feels.

 

She is right here, and it is enough.

 

***

 


End file.
